


Everything Back to You: Christmas Leave

by Takada_Saiko



Series: Everything Back to You [1]
Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: AU, Bromance, Gen, Tessler - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 17:19:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5257043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Takada_Saiko/pseuds/Takada_Saiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one-shot set in the AU world Everything Back to You is being written in. It's Christmas of 2008 and all Ressler wants to do for his short leave from chasing down Reddington is go back to DC and have a quiet evening to himself. Jacob is the one member of his team that never seemed to understand the word no. Tessler bromance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything Back to You: Christmas Leave

Notes: This is a one-shot that takes place in the universe of my AU Everything Back to You. While I would love you to read that as well, all you really need to know is that the premise for the universe is that Jacob and Liz's upbringings were mostly switched (Liz was raised by the Major while Jacob was adopted by a good family instead of being picked up by Bud) and that Jacob went on to work with the FBI and, specifically, on Ressler's team that was chasing down Reddington. This takes place while they're still on the hunt for Reddington, so maybe Christmas 2008 or so.

* * *

**Christmas Leave**

They had all gotten a reprieve for Christmas, which was more than they had had the year before when they had been closing in on Reddington. He'd gotten away, of course, but so had their time with their families. Not that Ressler had a family to go home to this year. His father had been dead for years and his mother had passed away just after Quanitco. He didn't have any siblings and Audrey's family was doing something and they were… well, a _break_ might be a little too harsh, but they were taking a step back in their relationship. He knew that his being gone was hard on her. It was hard him, but his work was important. He couldn't just quit. She would come around. She always did.

Ressler had planned on going back to his little apartment he kept in DC, pouring himself a glass from his best bottle of whiskey he kept there, and settle into a quiet evening by himself. It would have been nice to have been alone with his thoughts for just a little while without four other men constantly around him, battering back and forth and grousing at each other like dormmates back at school. They were good men, really they were, but he spent an absurd amount of time with them on the job. That's why he'd planned to just slip away, but of all people, Jacob Phelps had been the one to ask him what his plans were. It was small talk, something that he excelled at in a practiced sort of way. He hadn't meant anything by it, but Ressler had been foolish enough to give him an honest answer and the younger man had turned his nose up and tilted his head in that irritating fashion of his. "That's stupid," he had told Ressler without any pause to let his filter work through the thought. "What about your family?"

And then he'd continued to tell him the truth. After having roomed with the man during their time in Quantico, Ressler should have known better than to give Jacob pieces of personal information. He was a button pusher, even when he didn't mean to, but often he did. It was a game of his to pass the time and amuse himself. This time, though, when Ressler had told him that both of his parents were dead Jacob had gone silent for a good minute or two - a Christmas gift all unto itself - and then shrugged, telling him that his mother would kill them both if Ressler didn't come home with him. Somehow, even though he'd argued it, Donald Ressler had ended up on a flight from Paris, France over to New York City, New York and found himself following a man that he had known for years, respected enough to pull him onto his team, and had fought alongside with up the elevator to a condo that he supposed the younger man had grown up in. As they stood there, waiting for the doors to open, it struck Ressler that for all Jacob's endless prattle, all the stories and jokes and conversations that they had had, he actually knew very little about the man's personal life or his time before the FBI Academy.

The building was nice. It wasn't top-notch, but it was certainly nice. Ressler's father had chosen to be a cop, even though he'd come from a family that had money. In turn, Ressler had chosen to become an FBI agent. He had no idea what Jacob's family did or even what sort of parents would have raised a unique soul such as his partner. As he followed him down the long hall, his bag slung over one shoulder, it occurred to him that he'd never really asked. He wasn't sure if it was because he didn't like others prying into his life or if it simply boiled down to the fact that he'd never thought to.

"So, fair warning, my mom's a professional chef and caterer, so she goes all out," Jacob said as he fished a key out of his bag.

Somehow it struck Ressler as funny that anyone would trust Jacob Phelps with a key to their home. "You did tell them I'm coming, right?"

"Yeah, even if they didn't, it wouldn't matter. Trust me, there's always way too much food. They tried to ship it last year. By the time it caught up to us it was nasty, but hey," he said with a shrug, a half smile playing on his lips as he opened the door, tapping his knuckles against it as he did. "You guys home?"

"Your mom's in the kitchen still," a voice called and a tall, slightly heavy set man rounded the corner. With his dark eyes and grey hair that was almost white, square jaw, and thicker build, he hardly looked like he should be related to Jacob, much less have been his father. It was a strange sight to see the usual cocky mask break for what Ressler thought might actually be a real smile as the younger man reached forward and took an offered hand.

"Please tell me that's turkey I smell."

"That's turkey you smell."

Jacob's smile turned into a grin, and the taller man pulled him into a hug that was not as awkward looking as Ressler would have expected. This was truly a strange experience.

"Ressler, this is Bruce, Bruce this is Donald Ressler," Jacob introduced when they parted.

"We've heard a lot about you," Bruce said as he reached out and shook Ressler's hand.

Ressler shot Jacob a look and his partner grinned. "Only good things, of course."

"You're such a liar," Ressler chuckled.

"Don't let him fool you, Jake's pretty fond of you. Takes a lot, but you managed," Bruce said as he started back down the hall, the two younger men following. Ressler watched Jacob drop his own bag by the footrest of a deep leather chair and did the same before following him into the kitchen. He'd never heard anyone call Jacob anything other than Phelps of by his full first name. Nicknames were common in their setting, but somehow nothing stuck with the dark haired man. Well, nothing that he'd call him around his parents, anyway.

The smell coming from the kitchen was incredible. One of the few things that Ressler did know about Jacob's personal life was that the man knew how to cook, and it looked like he was finding the source of that knowledge on this little venture into the depths of the Phelps home. The woman that he assumed was his mother stood over a pot at the stove and looked up, peering over a pair of half glasses, and her smile just about took up her entire face. "Jacob, hon, I didn't even hear you come in. Is this Donald? Don? What do you go by, dear?"

"Everyone just calls him Ressler," Jacob said. "Or Ress."

"I'm not calling your friend by his last name, Jacob," she said and suddenly Ressler was being hugged. He wasn't sure when that had happened.

"Don is fine," Ressler managed when he was released and glanced over to see Jacob laughing at him. Well, at least that wasn't out of the usual. He watched his partner move over to stove and his mother shoo him away, even though he likely knew exactly what he was doing with it.

"Don't kick me out. Do you know how long it's been since I've had a kitchen? I kind of miss it."

"Well, if you'd find a nice girl and come home then maybe you could have a kitchen to cook in instead of shoot people," his mother told him in a sweet voice that didn't fit her words.

Jacob rolled his eyes.

"I didn't catch your name," Ressler said carefully.

"Kelly."

It didn't take long to see where Jacob got his endless chatter from. Kelly could have held a conversation with herself for hours, Ressler suspected. She was sweet, though, with a kind spirit that seemed so opposite of her son's own harder one that made him such a talented operative. The more Ressler spoke to Jacob's parents, the less the other man made sense. He'd seen him interrogate without flinching, kill without remorse, and there was no question that he had issues making personal connections even with his allies. Ressler was the one he was closest to in the team on whole, and that was because they had known each other for several years now. They had drinks, sometimes they would eat meals together, but it was mostly professional. Very little was shared in the personal realm, and for the first time Ressler was starting to see how odd that was and what a strain the life they lived would have put on many people. He needed to call Audrey. Maybe she wasn't overreacting.

Kelly's Christmas Eve meal was the best Ressler thought he'd ever had. They sat at the small table in the little dining room off the kitchen, eating and drinking and talking. Kelly readily shared stories about Jacob's wild teenage years. The fact that he had been a hellraiser was no shock to his partner, nor, if he was honest about it, was it that he'd graduated high school a year early and had gotten his pick of universities. His parents were just so damn proud of him and Ressler got a kick out of finally seeing that smug mask crack a little as Jacob ducked his head and ran his hand through his shortly cropped hair in a rare sign that he was uncomfortable.

By the time dinner was over Kelly had pulled turned her attention on Ressler and he found himself telling stories about his own mother as they took dishes to the sink and two FBI field agents that were tasked with bringing down one of their Most Wanted dead or alive rolled up their sleeves and started scrubbing the bare crumbs that were left away from the china. Kelly asked questions that her son never bothered with about Ressler's family and carefully toed around any tender subjects as if she knew by instinct which ones he would rather not speak about. Ressler hadn't talked so much about his loved ones in a long while, and it was strangely soothing to do so on that night. It gave him a sense of peace that he hadn't felt in some time.

"Hey, you're a whiskey fan, right?" Jacob called, holding up two glasses and a bottle of amber liquid.

"Yeah," Ressler said carefully, not sure that was the right answer.

"Grab your coat. We're going to the roof."

The ginger man chuckled to himself and did as told. "What about your folks?"

"They're going to mass. They won't be back for a few hours."

"You don't go with them?"

"Pretty sure God doesn't listen to people like me," Jacob answered. "Come on."

Ressler followed him out the door and up to the roof of the building, pulling the collar of his coat up close to his neck as they exited to it. It was chilly up above the city, the people below them moving like tiny ants through the streets. Jacob set the glasses on the balustrade that encircled the roof, and poured their drinks, offering him a glass when he had. "Merry Christmas, I guess?"

"Sure," Ressler chuckled and they clinked glasses and took a drink each.

"Sorry about your folks," Jacob murmured, nose still stuck down in his glass. The man didn't offer condolences to many people, in Ressler's experience, so he was inclined to think it was as close to real as Jacob ever got.

"Thanks." He looked over, watching the dark haired man carefully. "So, am I crazy or is there a reason that you seem to not exist in your parents' lives before you were like fifteen or something?"

"Fourteen," Jacob corrected and set his glass down, blue eyes flickering out over the cityscape. "I was fourteen when they adopted me."

Ressler paused, running the words through his mind again to make sure he'd heard him correctly. "I didn't know you were adopted."

"Yep."

"Somehow that make sense."

Jacob laughed, but it was a sound that Ressler had always suspected was rehearsed. Almost like it was expected from him so he performed for those watching. Strangely enough, there was a lot of that with Jacob Phelps.

"I grew up in the foster system, ran away at fourteen. I, uh, got into some trouble and ended up here in New York. I stole Kelly's purse of all things, and instead of pressing charges she took me home. She's lucky I didn't take off with everything they owned," he chuckled.

Ressler was staring by this point. "Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"I never knew."

"I never told you."

The fair haired man cleared his throat. "Why now?"

"I don't know. I found out a lot about you, I guess it's fair."

Ressler wasn't sure that was quite the truth, but it was the one that Jacob was telling himself. A small smile spread across his lips and he leaned against the flat surface of the balustrade, looking out on the city. "They seem to really love you. You got lucky."

"You have no idea," Jacob said softly. "I, uh… Well, you know how I am. You work with me."

The smile faded. "Yeah," Ressler said carefully and looked over.

Jacob looked uncomfortable now, like he'd opened up a subject he hadn't meant to. "I don't know. People just… I guess I just don't get them most of the time. Or I don't do what they want. I went through a lot of foster homes before I ran. Yeah, I'm lucky."

"Just have to find the right fit," Ressler said carefully. "Like the team."

Jacob tilted his head. "Those guys hate me," he laughed.

"They don't hate you. They respect you."

"Sure, for what I do. I do what they're afraid to."

Ressler blinked, surprised by the admission. How much had Jacob had to drink? He'd never heard the man this open about anything, much less his relationship with the team that he'd been a part of for nearly two years now.

A lopsided smile tugged at the younger man's lips and he downed the rest of the whiskey in his glass. "It's fine. I know what I am."

"What's that?" Ressler asked carefully.

Jacob only smiled and leaned against the balustrade. He didn't answer immediately, his gaze drifting out over the lights below. "I do what I have to to get the job done," he said softly, "and I don't feel guilt over it. It doesn't bother me at all, even the things that should."

Ressler took a careful sip of his drink, biding his time. The initial inclination was to argue the point, but Jacob wasn't wrong, at least not entirely. He'd seen the younger man do things and watch things be done that would have sent most grown men screaming from the scene. The team acknowledged it without actually condemning it because, just as he said, Jacob was useful. He was talented in finding ways around rules in a way that made Ressler hate him at first, but with the right sort of guidance and the beginning of their friendship - because they _were_ friends, Ressler was sure of it - he had found enough balance to work more or less within the confines of the FBI. If nothing else, Ressler never worried about Jacob Phelps being corrupted by some outside source. He was dedicated and he was focused. He didn't have any visible weaknesses. Even Ressler hadn't known about his family until that night. Not really.

"The little girl," Ressler said at last. "The one just outside of Baghdad."

Jacob's expression immediately closed off. "That's not cool, man," he said, his voice tight.

"No, listen, I'm just saying that it's not like you don't feel for people. You do, you just…. I don't know, but you do," Ressler grumbled, thinking of the way Jacob had searched through the rubble of the destroyed home when he'd heard the cry no one else had and how he'd cradled the toddler like she was a precious treasure found in the sand. It was like nothing that Ressler had ever expected from him.

Jacob looked down, his gaze focused on his hands that were gripping the edge of the concrete balustrade.

"You're good at your job, Jacob," Ressler said carefully. "You're… I think you're a better man than you give yourself credit for."

"Yeah?" the younger man asked hesitantly.

"Well, those people downstairs that I met tonight sure think so, and they probably know you better than anyone," Ressler pointed out and Jacob smirked,

"Guess you're right."

"Of course I am," Ressler answered, a smirk of his own playing across his features. He watched his friend's smile turn real and for the first time in a long time Ressler felt a sort of quiet settle around him him, even amongst the chaos that they always seemed to live in. He had spent what he felt like was every waking moment since the day his father had been brutally murdered struggling to live up to what he would have wanted and sometimes he found that he lost himself to it. He drowned in expectations of a man that he hadn't known since he was twelve years old and struggled against the waves of expectations that may or may not have been. Jacob was a constant reminder that he couldn't control every aspect of the system and that each cog in the wheel he was apart of didn't function in the same way. He'd never met a man quite like Jacob Phelps and he was certain he never would in the future, and that, he thought that night, was more than okay. It balanced his own life out just a little more than he'd known was necessary, and he owed that realization to Jacob. "Thank you," he said at last.

"For what?"

"Inviting me."

Jacob smiled again. "Any time, buddy," he said as he turned his gaze outward and the two men stood in silence as Christmas Day washed over them.

* * *

Notes: Ressler kind of took over this story. After finding everything out that we did about him on the Winter Finale (seriously, the bit about his dad explains so, so much) it's really having me look at his character in a little bit different light. He's under an insane amount of pressure. So what do I do? I go write a Tessler piece. I swear, this bromance may kill me.


End file.
